Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison

by Arthur Morrison

  “There be a gang o’ men gatherin’, sir, at back o’ Castle Hill,” said Mrs Martin. “What they be arter I ben’t sure of, but I should guess it be a run. I doan’t think it be to hurt me this time, nor my niece. But there be the men, sir, an’ ’tis right yow should know.”

  “How many?”

  “Eight or nine, an’ more comin’. Very quiet arl of ‘em, an’ waitin’, seemin’ly, when we left.”

  “Come,” said the officer, “quick, the two of you! And no row, mind!”

  “Shall I burn a flare, sir?” one man asked.

  “Burn your fat head!” snapped the one-eyed chief officer. “Up on the hill, perhaps. What’s the good of a flare down here, except to scare them off? Get ahead, you skrimshanked barbers, and shut your jaw!”

  They were hurrying back by the way the women had come, and Mrs Martin was keeping near them, with Dorrily following as best she might. A large run of smuggled goods had not been known in these parts for years; but the chief officer knew that Mrs Martin had seen more of coastguard work than most coastguardsmen — certainly more than any of them he had command of now. And, as he reasoned, a silent gang of men did not assemble near the coast at midnight to play at marbles.

  XXV. — A WAKEFUL NIGHT

  NOW Roboshobery Dove, when he had been told that Murrell was out, but expected back, had promised to come again. He had gone back to the Castle Inn, but found it closed for the night. So he kept on his way through the village to his own house. Here he thought to fill an interval with a pipe and a glass; which indulgences, with the lateness of the hour, caused him to fall asleep in his chair. He never knew precisely how long he slept, but when he woke his long clay pipe was lying on the floor in five pieces, and the candle was smoking and spluttering in its socket.

  He rose hastily, took his hard glazed hat, and went out. Plainly it was very late, but he had promised to call again, and perhaps Cunning Murrell, night-bird as he was, was waiting for him. So Roboshobery Dove hastened by what he judged a short cut. That is to say, instead of going by the village street — wherein, indeed, he feared the familiar sound of his wooden leg at that hour might raise gossip — he took the paths that led behind the gardens.

  The ways were narrow and crooked, and they made amazing quirks and circuits round hoppits, by pigsties, and behind cowhouses. But Roboshobery Dove could have found his way blindfold, and he went over the soft ashes that made the surface without conscious thought of a turn or an angle; and at last emerged in the lane a little below the cottages and almost opposite the stile.

  He heard a step, which stopped suddenly; and peering through the dark he perceived the form of Murrell, and behind him, more distinct, that of Ann Pett in her print gown. Murrell saw Dove too, but it was too late. He had had in mind that the old sailor was to return, and had kept open eyes and ears for him, carefully peeping before venturing out with a tub, and listening for his step in the village street. But as time went on, and as the tubs, two at a time, made a higher and higher pile in the ditch, Murrell grew easier, supposing that Dove must have postponed his visit till to-morrow.

  And now, when the house was rid of almost all the smuggled liquor, on a sudden Roboshobery Dove came silently from the direction opposite that he might be expected by, and almost ran into him as he carried one of the barrels. For a moment Murrell thought of turning back; but it was too far, and with the tub he could not run. He stopped, and Roboshobery Dove came up.

  “Good evenin’, Master Murr’ll, sir,” said Roboshobery. “’Tis wonnerful late for a wisit, but — hullo! Axcuse me, but...Why ’tis!—” He dropped his voice suddenly...”’Tis a tub! Well I’m—”

  For once Cunning Murrell had not a word to say. He took a step forward, and another step back, hugging the unlucky tub before him in the manner of a muff. Roboshobery Dove, who had bent to inspect it, rose erect with many chuckles. “Well, there!” he said. “To think oft!” and he chuckled again. “Well, I den’t think — why bless ‘ee, Master Murr’ll, sir, this ben’t one o’ the things yow was ‘feared o’ breakin’ t’other night, be’t? In the frail basket, hey? Ha! ha! But ’tis arl right — yow den’t need to be gastered. ’Tis many a hundred sich I’ve had in my time, sarten to say. Come, I’ll give ‘ee a hand. Lord love ‘ee, I den’t think ever to handle one agen, that I den’t, barrin’ one or two o’ my own, kep’ snug. An’ was onny sayin’ a while ago how easy a run would be now — but I den’t think ’twould be yow as would make ‘t, that I den’t! Ha! ha! Come, give us a hoad. Where are ye puttin’ em? Fetch anoather.”

  “Master Dove,” protested Murrell, with such dignity as was consistent with hanging to the tub, which Roboshobery had seized. “Yow be mistaken. I be no smuggler, though ‘t may seem so. This liquor ben’t mine — none of it, not now — an’ I repent ever touchin’ it. I am but puttin’ it out o’ my house, where ‘t should never hev come. Touchin’ pitch I hev been defiled, an’ my lawful arts hev been undone.”

  “Well,” said Dove, who was by no means convinced, “I dunno ‘bout arl that; an’ as to pitch, ’tis a useful ‘nough thing in its place, though I’d rayther hev a barr’l o’ this stuff jus’ now. I onny offered to give y’ a hand.”

  Since Dove would not go he might well help to shorten the job. “There are but fower or five left now,” Murrell answered, “an’ if yow’ll go back with Ann Pett you can help bring ‘em, an’ thank ‘ee kindly. I’ll stow these.”

  So Dove went toward the cottage with the woman, and Murrell added the two tubs to the pile.

  The cunning man found Dove’s presence doubly awkward, for there might be other visitors, though he did not expect them just yet. Golden Adams had been mightily tickled by Murrell’s arrangements for doing justice between old Sim Cloyse and himself, and had sworn not to deny himself the pleasure of witnessing their working out; though he had promised the cunning man that the pistols should not go with him. He was to observe Cloyse’s doings from a place of concealment, and he might, if he pleased, follow him, when, as was regarded certain, he would come to knock up Murrell and report that forty of the tubs were missing.

  Roboshobery Dove stumped out sturdily with a tub on each shoulder, and Ann Pett behind him; and with one more journey to the cottage brought out the last two.

  “That be arl, so your darter tell me,” Roboshobery remarked, leaning on the stile. “But that be a queer place to putt ‘em!”

  “I care not where they go, Master Dove,” Murrell replied, with something of his common self-possession; for he was relieved at seeing the job done.

  “I care not where they go, so as they go out o’ my house. I might ha’ putt ‘em in the hoss-road or let the officers take ‘em, ‘stead o’ toilin’ an’ draggin’ to putt ‘em behind a hedge in a field nobody goes near.”

  “’Tis a quiet field enough,” replied Dove, to whom the whole proceeding was incomprehensible; “but why putt ‘em in a field at arl?”

  “Master Dove, I hev told yow, though in your way o’ thinkin’ yow may not see ‘t. I hev siled my hands with an evil traffic, and now that I see my hainish error I wash my hands of it, an’ I putt the thing from me.” Cunning Murrell turned toward his cottage. “Come away, Master Dove, from the place,” he said, “an’ if yow hev aught to say to me, say’t quickly, for ’tis late; or, better still, leave it till to-morrow.”

  “Why, Master Murr’ll, sir,” Dove answered, walking at his side, “what I did hev in my mind was to speak agen to yow o’ Mrs Martin an’ her niece.”

  “An’ what o’ them?” Murrell’s face was invisible in the dusk, or Roboshobery Dove would have seen that he frowned and screwed his lips. The evening’s adventures had made him touchy.

  “Why, they be in very bad trouble, as yow know, an’ I thought to ask if yow’d made such trial as yow spoke of, arl by yourself, without any oather party’s partic’lars.”

  Cunning Murrell was in an unaccustomed and unpleasant position. He could not afford to be angry, for Roboshobery Dove was witness to his conne
ction with the smuggled tubs, and in that respect might be as dangerous as if they still lay concealed in his cottage. On the other hand, the story of the burning of the witch-bottle at Banham’s would be all over the village in the morning, and it were useless to attempt to conceal it. He saw that he must make some concession if he were to save his dignity at all. So he answered: “Yes, I hev.”

  “Ah!” said Dove, eagerly, “an’ ’tis right, aren’t it? Yow’ve found ’tis anoather witch, I hoad a pound. Han’t ye? Who is’t?”

  “Master Dove, I hev made several trials, an’ I be willin’ to tell ‘ee that they den’t pint to Mrs Martin.”

  “There! I knowed it well ‘nough!” cried Dove, triumphantly. “Den’t I say’t, Master Murr’ll, sir? Den’t I say’t, now?”

  “But when I made the trials, Master Dove, I was under that evil influence.” And Murrell pointed toward the stile.

  “What, the tubs? Lord bless ‘ee, what difference would they make? Unless yow’d been a-drinkin too much out of ‘em.”

  “I hev drunk nothen out of ‘em, Master Dove, an’ that weren’t my meanin’. My meanin’ were, as I toad ‘ee a while back, that silin’ my hands with such unbeseemin’ traffic hev done injury to my lawful arts — arts that need clean hands above arl things. So that when my trials show nothen agen Mrs Martin, ’tis mayhap not to be depended on.”

  “Lord bless ‘ee, what difference can a few tubs make, standin’ in a larned man’s house? ‘Taren’t in natur. Lord! there’s many a good man had thousands, one time an’ anoather! If yow hev proved Mrs Martin no witch’ enough, an’ arl the tubs in the world can’t matter a farden!”

  “Is that your opinion then?” Murrell asked, keenly.

  “Ay, sarten to say. Stands to reason.”

  “Well, Master Dove, it ben’t mine. But every man hev a right to his own opinion. Now, attend. Master Dove. I hev told yow that I hev made trials that do not pint to Mrs Martin as a witch. Very good. Now it seems yow be anxious to clear Mrs Martin. If yow were to tell abroad that I had made the trials, ’twouldn’t be well to mention they tubs.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t speak o’ them, nohow, o’ coase,” Roboshobery Dove answered, a little reproachfully; because to give information of illicit tubs was in his eyes the unpardonable sin.

  “No, ‘twere best not,” replied Murrell, the casuist. “If it ben’t known I hev meddled in such matters, the better will it be taken that Mrs Martin be no witch, if that’s what yow’re wantin’. An’ if ’tis your honest opinion (as ’tis not mine) that the tubs make no difference, why, arl the more reason for not tellin’ what yow’ve seen to-night. Do ‘ee unnerstand?”

  Roboshobery Dove, who was no casuist, was not at all sure that he did. But he said, with consideration: “I think I see. Master Murrell, sir. I may give it out, an’ stand to’t, an’ yow’ll back me, that Mrs Martin be no proved witch — summut havin’ been wrong in the partic’lars — so long as I keep close about your little games with they tubs. I think that be about the size of it, hey.”

  Murrell was disgusted with the coarseness of this interpretation of his argument. But he only said: “Well, well — putt it in what form ye like, so long as we unnerstand. An’ now I bid yow good-night, Master Dove, an’ thank ‘ee for your help. Yow den’t need—”

  Both started at a sharp noise far down the lane. There was a yell, and a sudden clamour of shouts; then a whistle, and the quick noise of scurrying feet. And again there was shouting — one great and angry voice predominating, it would seem, in mingled orders and curses. And the scurrying feet came nearer.

  Dove started off down the lane, and Murrell, after a second’s hesitation, followed him. His safest course would have been to shut himself indoors; but curiosity impelled him, and, after all, nobody would be surprised to find him abroad at any hour of the night.

  He had scarcely passed the stile when a tall man met him, and instantly seized his arm. “’Tis up with Cloyse,” said the man, in a loud whisper; and then Murrell saw that it was Golden Adams.

  “’Tis up with Cloyse,” repeated Adams, “an’ the guard hev arl his tubs. I see ‘em comin’ ‘fore they got him, an’ I runned up fust. Get on — get yow away. That hat do shine like a noo tin pot. Get yow away — they’re arter the carriers, lickertysplit!”

  He dragged the little man a yard, but finding him resisting, said: “Why woant yow come? They’ll be here in a bit, I tell ‘ee! We doan’t want to lose our own lot!”

  “Let go my arm, Golden Adams,” said Murrell “an’ look arter your own business. As for me, I’m done with it. I ask no pay, and I give no more service. But there be your tubs in the ditch behind the hedge!”

  “What?” Adams dropped the arm, took a short run toward the stile, checked, and came back. “What d’ ye mean?” he said fiercely, pushing his fist in Murrell’s face. “Playin’ tricks?”

  “The tricks be your own, Golden Adams. The tubs be where I say — the best place I could find for ‘em. I take no share, an’ I want none of ‘em — keep ‘em for yourself I be done with such business. I bear yow no ill will, but I hev reasons of my own.”

  For a moment it seemed that Adams would knock Murrell down. But at that instant there were three loud signal-shots, and then everything was touched with a pale radiance, for a blue-light was lit on Castle Hill.

  Golden Adams turned with a curse, and leaped over the stile. Three or four men, panting hard, came running by Murrell; and behind them ran more. While up the hill came stealing a subtle and pleasant odour, mingling agreeably with the sweet natural scents of the night; and it was the smell of white brandy. For the carriers, unused to the business, and taking no pride in the valiant fulfilment of their charge, as did the carriers of old days, had flung their burdens away and bolted at the first alarm; and two tubs of brandy, near a hundred degrees above proof and burst in the fall, now advertised their bearers’ pusillanimity to every waking nose within half a mile.

  Roboshobery Dove came back up-hill at his best pace. Murrell, the trees, the hedges, the cottages, and the backs of the flying carriers were distinguishable now in the pale flickering light of the flare. “Look at ‘em!” said Roboshobery, with great contempt. “Every man hulled away his tubs an’ run, as though there weren’t a chance o’ most on ‘em gettin’ away, tubs and arl! Two score on ‘em an’ more, arl runnin’ like for a wager! Want their mothers with ‘em, I count. Lot o’ big gals!”

  Hadleigh was rousing — was awake. The signal-shots and the tramp of running men had begun it, and most of the sleepers had reached their chamber windows ere the blue light had burned out.

  To every man in these parts the blue light of the coastguard was as the trump of Gabriel; and now that the light was burned almost at their own doors all Hadleigh scrambled out of bed, seized the nearest handful of anything resembling clothing, and came to see. Several brought lanterns, most had night-caps, one had a gun, and a few had boots.

  “What is’t? Where be? Be it the Rooshans? A run o’ stuff! The coastguard’s got ‘em, sarten to say!” So spoke the men of Hadleigh; and the women, too, for they came as readily as the men.

  Presently up the lane came the chief officer, swearing now but intermittently, gripping a man by the collar; and with him came one of his men with another prisoner. And it was not long ere it was seen that the chief officer had hold of old Sim Cloyse, while his man had caught an unlucky carrier, an Eastwood man. Young Sim, it seemed, had been knocked over, but for the present had escaped in the dark.

  “Come!” cried the chief officer. “I want a horse and cart to hire for the Queen’s service, to carry seized goods. If any of you people like to bring me one it shall be paid for. If not, I shall have to rout one out, and take it.”

  Everybody instantly remembered that somebody else had a horse and cart, but at length there was a general agreement that Banham was the patriot who should serve the Queen, as being carrier by trade, as well as having his cart close at hand. Banham, in fact, was already present in shirt and
trousers, with Mrs Banham in a mysterious white under-garment, a shawl, and a nightcap; and a train of small Banhams in nothing but their shirts.

  The chief officer held both prisoners while his man burned another blue light on a little knoll close at hand, so that the incoming guards should make directly for the spot where they were needed. The display was regarded with great enthusiasm, and it communicated a comic ghostliness to the assemblage. While it continued two men arrived, and took over the captives, so that the chief officer might go with Banham to see the horse harnessed.

  Long before this Roboshobery Dove had made little preparations of his own. He was aware of the danger of appearing as the sole fully-dressed person in the crowd (with the exception of Murrell, whose night-walking habits were known), and he had pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and stowed them, with his glazed hat, in a convenient corner. So that now he stood with the rest in his shirt, trousers, and, as usual, one boot; and a handful of the shirt was dragged negligently over his waistband, as an expression of careless haste. And as he stood thus there came to him a sudden and brilliant notion. He resolved to make a speech.

  The officer had just gone off with Banham, and Mrs Banham had gone to direct and counsel her husband. Murrell was looking on almost unnoticed in the shade behind the villagers. Roboshobery Dove, however, directed the general attention to him by hailing him in a loud voice.

  “Master Murr’ll, sir!” bawled Roboshobery Dove.

  The cunning man gave a start and coughed. “Well, Master Dove,” he said quietly, “I be here.”

  “Master Murr’ll, sir,” Roboshobery proceeded in the same loud voice, “I think on this here interestin’ occasion, arl these here neighbours bein’ present together, which is uncommon, I will take the liberty, so to say, o’ givin’ out a piece o’ information I hev received, or beared, from yow. ’Tis as respects Mrs Martin, neighbours, which hev most unjustly been putt upon for a witch, when stands to reason she coon’t be, her son bein’ killed fightin’ the Rooshans, as be well knowed. Well, neighbours, to make the yarn no longer than need be, Master Murr’ll here, which be well knowed as a genelman o’ the very primest powerful larnin’, hev made sarten performances which prove Mrs Martin be no witch at arl, but far from it on the contrairy, an’ nothen o’ the sort; an’ if anything ever looked otherwise, it was ‘cause the devil muddled the partic’lars, as might ha’ been guessed. So much be arl needed to be said, since oather surprisin’ partic’lars, as matters of opinion, I ben’t allowed to mention, seein’ every man hev a right to his own, as Master Murr’ll do sartify. An’ so—”